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The previous night, a summer storm had rolled onto the beach. But this was no gentle shower. It was a true storm of roiling black clouds, screaming wind, and stinging rain that pelted the sand and any creatures foolish enough to be out in it. The sea had turned from a flat blue mirror into a churning, angry monster that attacked the beach and attempted to carve out great gouts of land with it's curving clawlike waves. But the beach had been there for a thousand years, and it will be there a thousand more. The storm screamed and fought with itself into the wee hours of morning, until finally, exhausted and sullen, it had crept away, leave the day to dawn sodden but clear. The beach was strewn with debris, bits of shells and driftwood and seaweed, as well as a handful of dead fish, giving the gulls a field day.
One creature refused to die, though, no matter how many gulls stalked near her body. She was at once alien and familiar to an equine onlooker, something resembling a cross between a horse and a fish. From the head to the barrel, she was equine, but she lacked back legs. In their place was a dolphin-like paddle tail, once powerful enough to send her through the water with a mere flick, now flopping weakly back and forth, the only sign of life aside from her heaving chest. Instead of fur, she was covered in glittering scales that were slowly loosing their sheen. They were a medly of ever-changing colors, mostly deep seafoam green with hints of lavender and even light blue as the light hit them. A ribbonlike dorsal fin stretching from her shoulders to her rump drooped like a sad banner from her back as she lay on her right side, belly facing the sea. Her mane was composed of actual hair, and was the same shining color as her body, if a bit more green. The creature's eyes, impossibly deep blue in color, were slowly glazing over, exhaustion and heat forcing the life out of her bit by bit. Ten feet in length from nose to tail, which was small for her kind, the hippocampus was tired, frightened, and almost ready to give up.
She had never intended to wash up on the beach. Her pod had been seeking shelter from the storm, she had gotten lost, separated from her family in the dark water. When she was stuck her head above the sea for a breath, a stray wave had crashed directly onto her head, stunning her into darkness. When she woke up, she was laying on the beach, unable to pull herself back to the cool embrace of the ocean.
It wasn't just the gulls and the sun she feared. Since she was a foal, her family had told stories about the landhooves and their harsh ways, killing eachother for a mouthful of grass. The hippocampi, living in their secret lands of flowing sea grass and bright coral gardens, did not know strife between themselves, only from outside forces such as sharks. In their eyes, landhooves were brutish, evil creatures that must be avoided at all costs. And here she was, stranded and helpless.
With the last vestiges of her strength, the hippocampus lifted her head to send a plaintive, oddly musical cry over the ocean, hoping against hope that her pod could find her. But even so, what could they do but watch her die? She was too weak to pull herself back to the water with her front hooves, and even when the high tide rolled in as it was now it would only lap at her. With a feeling of despair, she let her head drop, and waited for death.
But perhaps death would not come for the hippocampus just yet, if a kind soul was to take pity on her.
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